


Doll's Eye Sign

by headcrashed



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Original Character-centric, Original Universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:29:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22121848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/headcrashed/pseuds/headcrashed
Summary: Tio Wenceslao, a somewhat-widowed astrophysics professor, knows death very well. But despite her always leaving him gifts, he's never met her -- until today.
Kudos: 2





	Doll's Eye Sign

**Author's Note:**

> Haha, hi, I'm gonna start posting more writing assignments I liked here! This one is a flash fiction featuring Tio Wenceslao, who belongs to my friend Caelah (@jubilucky on twitter and tumblr)! Poor Tio. This one also re-introduces the latest iteration of one of my oooold ocs.

doll's eye sign

[ dŏlz ]  
n.  
reflex movement of the eyes such that the eyes lower as the head is raised, indicating functional integrity of the nerve pathways involved in eye movement.

* * *

“You know Death doesn’t just leave, Tiowë Che Miro Wenceslao.” She laughs a delicate, windy, leaf-shuffling laugh, one that makes him shiver. “I have my reasons for coming here.”

“It would seem so.” Tio rubs the back of his neck, smoothing down hairs that would only seek to stand right back up at his full name. With his unworried hand, he pulls his shawl closer around his body: Death’s first gift, and of a very delicate knit. Clearly handmade with love, to his wonder. “I’m no stranger to you, even if we’ve never formally met. But why…leave gifts?”

“I…” Puzzlingly, the woman trails off and seems embarrassed, worrying her mouth with her hand. Every time he sees the wolfen claws, he wonders if it gets in the way of her crafts. The woman suddenly looks back up, dropping her hand to clutch her veil. “I never gave you my name.”

That certainly wasn’t an answer, but Tio realizes she hasn’t actually given him her name. Here he was, assuming she didn’t need one. His smile hesitates, and he pulls the shawl in closer. “…That you haven’t. Um.” Time to give up on the smile. “The God of Death has a name?”

“I’ve only one.” She smiles without teeth, as if hiding them. “Ylahn. May I come in? It’s so terribly cold out here.”

The rich clay of Tio’s skin starts to fade to an ashen horror. His body is screaming at him: _absolutely not, you’ve let Death in once. And that’s one time too many._ But still, he musters his most polite smile and waves her in with a stiff nod. “Certainly, I’ll put on some water for tea,” Tio says. Tea. Does Death drink tea? Death feels cold, so Death should drink some tea. How logical.

“Oh, good!” Ylahn exclaims, and claps once. Then, she settles herself, folding her hands atop her overskirt. She seems to be looking off somewhere, but then again, he can’t tell for sure; her gaze is blank and more glass than eye. “I would prefer some hibiscus tea, if you’ve got it.”

“Hibiscus tea, absolutely,” Tio echoes, surprised at how absolute he was being in the face of Death. _Perhaps that’ll curry favor? Who knows. She’s Death._ Soon enough, the electric kettle is humming away on the counter, and he clasps his own hands together as he heel-turns to face her again. His wedding ring stings against his clammy flesh. “Ah, would you like to sit down? Anything else I can offer?”

“No, no, I’m splendid. Please, sit as well,” she answers as she sits, along with a wave to the opposite seat. Her gesture is very nonchalant, but the claws against her pitch-decorated hands seem to force the issue for him. Tio very nearly breaks something stumbling to sit down, slapping his folded hands down on the table. He can feel Ylahn watching him, even without a gaze, watching her blink her heavy lashes slowly. A human, and the concept of death given form. There is quiet, save for the soft burble of the hot water. Finally, she speaks up again.

“You are accepting my gifts. Despite everything.”

The air chills. Tio grips his hands tighter and gives her a staunch nod, pursing his lips. The wedding ring hurts. Some urge in him prompts him to twist it, much to his chagrin, like a lock for a valve to let the pressure out. That’s when her hand comes over and covers his, and he notices her arms have become some sort of clear resin. Inside, drops of blood drip from nowhere and disperse into inky clouds. It all reminds him, somehow, of an IV bag. Her hands are flesh – terribly, flesh, with her normal, albeit lacelike tattoos upon them. His wedding ring looks splotchy. The kettle is starting to fuss.

“You have brought me into your home, once more, you think. To give me tea.” Ylahn suddenly leans back, gesturing with a hand to the pie upon his counter. “You even tasted and used my gifts. Why do you give me such hospitality?”

Tio doesn’t have an answer. He’s looking at her, and he’s shaking his head, opening his mouth over and over – but there’s no answer for Death. Surely, and steadily, the tears he felt coming sting down his cheeks, splattering all over the tablecloth without grace. His eyes are bloodshot with pain, and Ylahn feels it. She nods back, and fresh, blackened tears stream down her already teardrop-adorned cheeks, leaving streaks of charcoal on her mauve-tan skin. His voice works again.

“You didn’t try to…” Tio begins, before clearing his throat. “You were just doing your job.”

Ylahn’s smile changes. Her eyes start to squint, then widen. “Did I do my job?”

Tio is struck, all at once, with his own mortality – and yet, he still has to answer. “Did…you?”

“I’m asking you…to reflect and see if I’ve actually done the job you think I’ve done,” Ylahn corrects. Tio doesn’t find it to be much of a correction.

“What…are you talking about? My wife—She’s gone. You…are the only one who does that, are you not?” Tio’s voice strains against cracking as he speaks. “Don’t you know?”

“I do know. I am asking you, Tiowë. Is she gone?” The water is roiling. The windows have flown open. Tio can’t see past his tears, and Ylahn reaches out to cup his cheeks. Her hands are warm and feel like spun wool. “I am not just Death. I am the arbiter of dreams. Have you given up on yours?”

Tio breathes deeply. “No…no I have not. I still see her…in my dreams.” He closes his eyes for a bit before responding. “And you’re the only one who does that, right?”

“Right,” Ylahn says. “Don’t give up on her yet.”

“I won’t.” Tio finally smiles. “…That pie you brought me. Would you like some with your tea?”


End file.
